


happy cockus day

by trasharama



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Lovers, Porn With Plot, Sharing a Bed, Smut, canvassing, caucus more like cockus, iowa caucuses, progressive politics, such a great pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasharama/pseuds/trasharama
Summary: She prefers the nip of New Hampshire winters, heavy winds blowing in her hair, being bundled up in three layers with pens whose ink freeze fast and thaw slow. She loves warm buildings, and Christmas breaks, and slurping down huge bowls of ramen in the evenings, but being on the ground, a clipboard in her hand, boots on a voter’s doorstep? That’s where she knows she belongs.So there are a lot of things going against Rey Johnson’s introduction to Ben Solo, his moody personality probably the least of her worries, since he’s the reason she’s not outside, making some sort of tangible effort to get his mother elected as president.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 30
Kudos: 170
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange, Reylo Hidden Gems





	happy cockus day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andabatae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andabatae/gifts).



> i sincerely hope i fulfilled the prompts well enough--im a little worried because i kind of mixed the enemies to lovers (but they aren't REALLY enemies ever) and there's only one bed AU prompts i received, and i absolutely LOVE your works, @andabatae, so definitely have my fingers crossed... it kind of wrote itself, and once i was on a roll i couldn't stop... oops
> 
> i work in politics, and im on my second presidential cycle right now out in iowa as i type this up, though by the time this gets out i'll probably be in another state, who even knows where. hence this story, which i used as a desperate way of venting, because campaign work is insane and the night of the iowa caucus i was a mess watching CNN in the corner of our results watch party. 
> 
> im sure i used some terms in this story that not everyone is familiar with, so im going to point those out now just to offer some clarification pre-fic read, although not knowing a term shouldn't take away from the plot at all, really.
> 
> field - anyone who works in field are the ones directly interacting with voters. those are your door knockers (AKA canvassers), phone bankers, people who manage volunteers, etc. etc. 
> 
> advance - advance staffers are the ones who put together events. they arrive in a location in advance of a political candidate's arrival (hence, advance), set up the rally, get the candidate to the rally, and tear down the rally.
> 
> surrogate - someone important, either from entertainment like films or music, or politics, like AOC and the squad, who has endorsed a political campaign and has chosen to represent that campaign at official events.
> 
> caucus - caucuses are complicated and i hate them so much for many reasons. most importantly they're super classist and don't give everyone an equal voice in the primary election. but anyway, this link can explain what a caucus is and what it does much better than i could: https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/what-iowa-caucus-process-how-does-iowa-caucus-work-n1127886
> 
> with all that said, i do hope this is an enjoyable fic, even if there's not a ton of actual caucus description in it lol

She prefers the nip of New Hampshire winters, heavy winds blowing in her hair, being bundled up in three layers with pens whose ink freeze fast and thaw slow. She loves warm buildings, and Christmas breaks, and slurping down huge bowls of ramen in the evenings, but being on the ground, a clipboard in her hand, boots on a voter’s doorstep? That’s where she knows she belongs.

So there are a lot of things going against Rey Johnson’s introduction to Ben Solo, his moody personality probably the least of her worries, since he’s the reason she’s not outside, making some sort of tangible effort to get his mother elected as president.

He’s standing in Leia’s impossibly immaculate office when her boss calls Rey inside to join them.

“Rey, I want you to meet my son, Ben.” Rey recognizes him, of course. Who wouldn’t, the blockbuster actor of the year? Who can blame her when she simply gapes at him for a moment? “He’s come home for the first time in… well, too long. He’s here to help us out.”

That shoves Rey’s shock aside.

“To canvass?” she asks. “Do you need me to train him up on canvassing?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead canvassing,” he pipes up, jaw clenched. “Useless work.”

“I--excuse me?”

“You think knocking on fifty doors and talking to five people is going to close a ten-point gap in the polls? You look like a lot of things, but ignorant isn’t one of them.”

Rey is at a loss for words, and can only sputter at Leia. “This--your son--can’t--”

The trio falls silent as Rey fumes and Leia glares at Ben. Rey glances back at him, red-faced, and he _sucks_ , he is _garbage_ , a _poop person_ who should drown in a sewer, a particularly smelly one, even when he’s got swoopy, messy hair and a plump scowl on his face and… 

And okay, maybe he’s… hot.

But those kinds of thoughts? Are beside the point. Because he is spitting on her livelihood, on the only thing that brings her real satisfaction in her life, and that just won’t do. Nope. Not one bit.

So she centers herself, takes it all in. Stock of the situation, that’s what she needs to do, and she taps the side of her thigh to the beat of her thoughts: The simple idea that Leia Organa would even allow his presence in such a sacred space, after everything he’d done, everything she’d read about in the news over the years is astounding to her. And beyond that, the fact that he would just waltz in, like nothing had ever happened, like he belonged here… well, Rey isn’t sure she has the mental capacity to process such a bizarre reality.

This is far from normal, but he and Leia don’t look very angry with each other… if anything, they appear at ease, even as Leia’s eyes glint towards her.

“You’re getting a promotion, Rey,” Leia says with deliberate focus, like she’s rehearsed the words over and over (which, if they’re being honest, she probably has). “I know you love field. But I think you’ll be marvelous at scheduling. And it comes with a pay raise.”

Rey stares Leia full in the face, and it reveals no trace of irony, no _psyche_ , no “Gotcha!”

Then she glances at Ben Solo, who’s staring at his feet with envious determination. His brows are furrowed, and he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible.

Rey realizes what horrible thing is happening, all in that crashing moment.

***

Rey Johnson can’t help that she doesn’t like Ben Solo.

It’s not her fault she wishes she could grind him to dust and splash around in puddles of his blood. 

So what if she feels like his existence in her world brings her no value?

How she’s ended up beside him on a two hour flight has escaped her. She _thinks_ she recalls a conversation with Leia, one that ended with Rey’s newly minted scheduling services being put to use by Ben Solo’s surrogate contribution to his mother’s campaign. But the last two days are such a blur, she can’t be positive.

“Why so tense, Johnson?”

His voice makes her jump. Rey doubts very much that she will ever get used to it, his deep tenor and bobbing adam’s apple. It makes things confusing, and God… fuck, is he expecting an answer?

“I--” she clears her throat. “Just not… looking forward to this.”

“Because of me?” His eyes are just so damn brown. They’re actually a nice distraction, aren’t they, from the way the airplane is inclining in take off, even with all the bumps and shakes. For a moment, they’re staring at her, but then they flick to her hand, tight around their shared armrest. “Johnson, are you scared of flying?”

There’s a split moment, where Rey thinks that she wants to be honest with him. It’s the expression on his face, a twitching smirk, that douses the idea of any sort of emotional intimacy blooming from her. 

“Can’t be scared of something I’ve never done before, Solo.” She purses her lips. “But if you must know, I certainly prefer the ground.”

“That’s right. You’re the canvassing queen.” The way he says it, snide and jeering, the voice’s version of an eye roll--it makes for a good disturbance in her flight anxiety. 

“It’s a perfectly productive way to spend one’s time. That work is tangible. It’s about human connection.”

Ben snorts. “And it is rendered completely useless in the grand scheme of things. Commercials, social media, rallies? All certainly more useful than anything a day of door knocking can achieve.”

“Love hearing that from someone who I’m not still not convinced wouldn’t sabotage me, your mother, and our democracy as we know it.”

“Yes, because our democracy is the picture of perfection.”

“Easy for someone who’s never had their rights threatened to say.”

The fucking _tut tut_ that clicks in his mouth makes her vibrate with fury. “Just because I’ve lived a privileged life, I don’t deserve an opinion? Not very democratic of you, Johnson.”

“Considering all the frilly blockbusters you’ve starred in, letting Alistor Snoke manage you for so fucking long?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “I didn’t know about him.”

And she could never not believe him, but that doesn’t mean she thinks he’s infallible, or redeemed. So she says what she feels: “Real rich, the idea that _you’d_ be a sudden champion for the _positive improvement_ of our government.”

He regards her with this look that she just can’t pick apart in time; it’s a blur of emotion, a rainbow of countenances. It all disperses in several beats, settling into something neutral, bland like white bread, and he says what everyone is thinking: “Why my mother assigned _you_ to be my scheduler, I’ll never understand.”

“Me fucking either,” Rey mutters under her breath, as Ben Solo pops a pair of earbuds in, turning his head towards his lap and completely ignoring her.

***

Rey makes sure to interact with him as little as possible.

Their first week of events take place all around Iowa, and they go smoothly enough. She checks them into their hotels, makes sure they’re on separate floors. He sits in the backseat of their rental car and grunts back at her when she goes over their schedule every morning, keeping their conversations to a bare minimum.

She’s grateful. They’re on the same page.

But then the peace crashes in one of their more rural stops, and Rey… she just doesn’t know what to do.

He’s in his holding room, a classroom with all the desks pushed off to the side, pacing back and forth before he’s supposed to go onto the stage to speak to a big crowd of college students. Her head follows to the beat of his steps, practically spinning like an owl’s. He’s pale, paler than usual, and grimacing so deeply that Rey is convinced it must be painful for his lips.

Not that she’s paying any attention to his lips.

She would never do such a thing.

“I… really hate that I’m asking this,” she pipes up, and his pacing slows down just a little. “But are you… alright?”

He comes to a full stop so suddenly it’s a wonder he doesn’t topple over. “Yes,” he mutters. “Just peachy.”

Which obviously isn’t a convincing answer. “It’s just… if you’re _not_ alright, you should let me know, because then I can get you a trash can to barf in and we won’t have to pay a clean up crew to fix your mess.”

His pacing resumes as he turns to shoot her a seething glare. “I’m not going to vomit.”

“Oh, okay.” She can’t help but notice that he’s wrapped his giant arms around his torso. His shirt is really straining against them… “If there’s something wrong, then, maybe you should tell me. So that I can help you. So that you can get on stage on time.”

He’s fighting it, he really is. He’s holding his breath, and gasping a little to let more air in and none out, and his fists are clenched into tight balls, popping the veins of his forearms, button up shirt rolled up to the elbows. 

Rey may or may not be thinking about that image very late in her hotel room later.

It happens in seconds; Ben grunts, and lets his legs bound him towards the trash can in the corner, where he bends over and expels probably every ounce of liquid and food in his body. He’s gagging for two straight minutes.

Then he stands up, wipes his mouth with his knuckles, and nods towards Rey.

“Told you that egg salad smelled weird,” she says to him.

He just brushes past her and makes his way to the stage like nothing had happened.

***

Two weeks into their tenuous professional coupling, they host their most disastrous mess of a rally.

The advance staffers building the site are not sound technicians, no matter how much management wants them to be, so the microphones go out halfway through Ben’s speech, and he has to put his expensive Julliard training to good use to project his voice in the huge auditorium as best he can. A United States flag falls from where it’s hanging and touches the ground in a picturesque moment of unintentional, anonymous rally sabotage, much to the audible dismay of those most patriotic viewers. Ben and Rey are flustered, starving, and exhausted after prepping for and slogging through the failed affair all day.

It does not bode well for their already-contentious evening together, and the grumpiness manifests itself in the form of petty dining arguments.

She just wishes Ben Solo could wrap his tiny little walnut brain around the fact that Rey _needs_ a bowl of ramen in her life.

Right now.

“I just want to sink my teeth in a burger, Johnson. A juicy fucking burger. Ramen’s too dainty for that kind of satisfaction.”

“You can splash boiling ramen broth all over yourself! That’s hardly _dainty_.” She’s fuming in a lost battle, she knows. “It’s 10 degrees outside, I’m pretty sure my body is solid block of ice.”

His eyes flick up and down her figure, lingering on her chest, all padded and hidden underneath a parka. She pretends not to notice, kids herself into thinking the flush on her face is from the outside chill.

“Fine,” he mutters a moment later. “But only so I can chew out your taste in advance staffers and comfort items.”

Which is something they can agree on, so Rey thinks maybe this meal will be more pleasant than she’d hoped.

“The great Ben Solo, willing to compromise?”

He meets her gaze, stopping in the middle of the parking lot. She can’t read his expression, doesn’t understand the softness in his eyes or the hardness of his scowl, but the mood shifts completely, bringing a glow and warmth, thawing her frozen fingers, curling her stiff toes.

“I don’t want to make your job harder,” he murmurs so softly it nearly gets swept up by the wind. “If ramen is what you want after this shit day, it’s what we’ll get.” He turns away quickly after, stepping forward three times, and calls back, “It’s icy right here, don’t slip.”

He climbs into the front seat for the first time, and Rey thinks maybe that’s okay.

***

So maybe Rey spoke too soon.

Ben Solo isn’t an asshole.

He’s just… misunderstood.

He tells her lots of things at their first dinner. Like, when he was twelve, he went on a fishing trip with his dad, and they caught three fish together and picked a bunch of huckleberries near the lake at his grandmother’s estate, and that it’s really the last happy memory he has of his family, just before his mother started pursuing a more national political career. 

He tells her about the time his car broke down in Amarillo, and Rey can’t help it when the story comes up, because it just feels like too much of a coincidence, so-- 

“My car actually broke down in Amarillo, too.” When he cocks his head and raises his eyebrows, she clears her throat, tries to recall the details, which is harder than it should be, but he’s just too good a storyteller to even compare, really. “I had to abandon my car there, a red Honda minivan that I’d spent a thousand dollars on. I left it at a shop for the morning and went to that RV museum they have there, do you know the one I’m talking about?” Ben shakes his head. “It’s some passion project of a car dealership owner, this free little museum tucked in the back of his dealership’s parking lot. They had RV’s from the 30s. Free entrance. It was pretty cool. Nice little gem for such a shit place.”

Ben can’t help but snort at that. “It _is_ a shit place.”

And everything feels a little better, now, a little lighter, a little more tepid.

***

The questions pops out of her mouth without her consent. It’s been dominating her thoughts, his relationship with Allistor Snoke. Things are more amiable now, so the anxiety churning in her stomach because of her lack of knowledge doesn’t sit right anymore, and she blames post-event fatigue for her lack of filter.

“When you said you didn’t know about him… did you mean that?”

Ben’s head is resting on the back of his seat in the car, eyes closed. Rey almost lets herself believe that he’s asleep, that he hasn’t heard, but when his cheek twitches and mouth frowns, it becomes impossible to ignore the loud thoughts churning inside him. 

“Of course I meant it,” he says through uncomfortably clenched teeth. Somehow, she knows he’s not angry; maybe it’s the way he’s turned his gaze to her, opened his eyes to show her every emotion he’s feeling: conflicting flickers of confusion and resolvement, brokenness and elation. “I… I haven’t really, you know, told people about that period of my life. I found out what he’d been doing from Kaydel, you know, the--the first girl to come out with her story. She came to me first, before going to the press. I… didn’t want to believe her at first. I mean, that was my mentor, the man who made me what I am, who gave me my career on a silver platter, let me escape my legacy.”

“You didn’t want to believe--”

He cuts her off with a sharp look. “You asked me. I want to be honest with you. I can’t do that if you’re going to judge me for every bad reaction I had.”

“You’re… right,” she manages to say after taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I want to know everything.”

“I felt a lot of resentment toward my family. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. I felt so alone. I was left on my own so often, while my mom pursued her career and my dad flew around the country with her. They once tried to leave me with Luke and I think that was all the catalyst for it. Hot shot campaign manager, taking a break from his career to take care of his sister’s kid? We were out every day, knocking doors for my mom, calling people, going to fundraisers, hosting little events in our city. I got into a fight with someone at a door once, because he called my mom a whore and then set his pitbull loose on me. How I got the scar, actually.”

He takes a moment to point to his cheek, and Rey has to sit on her hands to resist the urge to reach out for him.

“And Luke couldn’t have cared less about the stitches or the dog. He only cared that it was bad PR for my mom. And that was that, they never left me with Luke again. Decided that a fourteen-year-old could handle being left alone for months at a time. So I think that, in a way, my bitterness was inevitable. Towards politics, towards my family. I wanted away from it all, so the day I turned eighteen, I ran straight to L.A., and Snoke reached out to me a few days later. He’d known my grandfather, I knew of him. So it all just made sense and… and I guess, when you’re running away from something that you feel betrayed you, you can find comfort in anything? That’s what I thought Snoke made me feel--comfortable. So having to grapple with the reality that he was anything but a good and decent man was hard. I like to think I made the right decision at the right time. I know I should have done it earlier, but perfection is… it’s complicated, and I’m… I don’t exactly live a simple life.”

“I was alone too,” Rey can’t help but jump in. “My whole life. My parents abandoned me when I was little; went in and out of the foster care system, found a community in politics, with Luke… I’m so sorry that you didn’t have the same experiences I had with your family. It… changes a lot, actually.”

“You shouldn’t let it change anything,” he says as he leans forward. He’s so close she can feel his breath, can smell the mint on it. “I’ve had a lot of time to deal with my relationships, to mend them. Just because yours are different and positive doesn’t mean that mine are invalid.”

“You’re a remarkably well adjusted person, considering.”

“Well. I’m only well adjusted because of the therapy. Even though it didn’t take me long to jump to Kaydel’s defense and work alongside her at the trial against Snoke, it still took years of sessions for me to parse everything out. I think when you realize everything you thought you knew was a complete lie, it’s hard to fit the puzzle back together. I’m glad, of course I am, that he’s rotting in jail now, that he’ll never be able to abuse his power again. But getting to this point of peace, being able to participate in politics? Would never have happened without my therapist.”

Rey shakes her head a little. “I went to one session of talk therapy, years ago, back in college. They wanted me to talk about my parents, take a deep dive into my traumatic past. I never went back.”

He’s staring at her with those fucking _brown_ eyes again. They’re sparkling and soft, and they look like they’re trying to suck in every emotion she’s feeling, just to convey to her that he _understands_.

“You’re not alone, Rey,” he murmurs, brushing his knees against hers and reaching a hand out to press their fingers together.

It’s shocking to her, how natural the words sound coming from him; how comforting they are, like wrapping up in a soft blanket; how much she tingles from their physical contact; how much she misses it when he moves away.

“Neither are you.”

  
  


***

You would be hard-pressed to hear her admit it, but Rey thinks Ben Solo has the most beautiful way with words, and it makes it very difficult to hate him.

When he stands on a stage, he bears his entire soul to the people listening. It doesn’t matter if the crowd is full of thousands, or if it’s a coffee meeting with just a handful of bodies. Ben can manage to make everyone see into his soul, and it stuns her in this deep, painful way, right in her gut. It stirs things she thought were long dissolved, emotions that were never meant to simmer back up to the surface.

It’s disgustingly obvious today, the toll his presence in her life is taking on her. She finds herself forgetting more and more the man he used to be--or the man everyone thought he used to be.

And it’s all because of what he’s doing now: talking about his mother in this vulnerable declaration, recalling difficult moments in his childhood, when her career seemed to come before him.

“It took me too long to realize that what she was doing was making it so every child could have the same comfort, the same stability, the same amount of love that I had. And I am grateful everyday, to have grown up with her strength and generosity surrounding me, even if I wasn’t always able to appreciate it. She gave me what so many wish they could have had: a home, three meals a day, two loving parents.” 

Rey watches him swallow a breath. She’s become intimately familiar with all of his ticks; he has this tendency, when he’s about to get particularly emotionally vulnerable with a crowd, of inhaling deeply, with everything he has, and holding it in a break between words that sits right between too long and too short--it creates this tension, lets him read the people before him, eyes spanning across the rows to gauge their engagement, which is consistently intense, like they’re desperately trying to hold his words in the palm of their hands. 

His inspections always land on Rey, right before he begins to speak again. He releases that breath only after putting eyes on her, after she nods and, when she’s feeling generous, after she shoots him a private grin. 

Today she tries to be as dazzling as comforting, all the things she’s typically not, and she’s not sure why, but watching his expression shift into something more at ease after she smiles up at him as wide as her mouth can go… it does a lot of things to her.

***

The slate for their Get Out the Caucus weekend is just… insane.

It’s eight events a day: small coffee stops in the mornings, canvass launches in the afternoons, huge concerts with other surrogates in the evenings.

She gets the idea at a field office the day before the caucus, which is packed to the brim with excited voters and out-of-state volunteers. He addresses the crowd with that Ben Solo charm, woos them into collecting clipboards and pens, arms them with hand warmers, and inspires them to speak as passionately about his mother as he does.

Eyeing the pile of clipboards on the table in the back, Rey approaches it. She feels Ben behind her before he speaks, looming and large as he is. She can even picture the inquisitive expression on his face, wide eyes and the smallest of smirks.

“What’re you doing over here?” he asks after a beat.

“What if we skipped the other canvass launch this afternoon and went and door knocked right now?” 

Ben looks at her like she’s nuts, all knitted eyebrows and wrinkled nose. “We don’t go off schedule,” he says with a tight face. “And you know I hate canvassing.”

“There’s press here,” she argues. “It would look amazing for your mom: Ben Solo, out talking directly to voters. I think we should do it.”

He hesitates, eyes roaming her face, and then slowly asks, “Could we do it together?”

“To get the canvassing-hater outside in this weather? I’d walk barefoot to get you out there with me.”

“Let’s see it,” Ben says, raising his eyebrows. “Barefoot or bust, Johnson.”

“You think I won’t do it?”

“In twenty degree weather? Certainly not.”

She refuses to break eye contact with him as she toes off her shoes, kicks them to the wall, and picks up two clipboards. A little huff of laughter exhales through his mouth as he stares right back.

“Put your fucking shoes back on,” he says, light and defeated, a little smile on his lips. “If you’re going to convince me that canvassing is the campaigning of the past, present, and future, it’s probably best not to have your feet frostbitten.” He pauses, and leans down to whisper right in her ear, “Imagine what all these press would say about that.”

She knows he does it because he doesn’t want the reporters to overhear; rationally, of course it’s obvious that his whispers are private for the sake of avoiding bad press. But the chill that runs down her spine when his breath tickles her cheek and his body looms over hers, bent to accommodate her height? She isn’t sure what’s causing those kinds of reactions, and it terrifies her.

But Rey is here to campaign for Leia Organa, not to think about the way her suddenly heart races whenever Ben Solo is in close proximity, so she slips her shoes back on, pastes a professional smile to her face, and shoves a clipboard in Ben’s hands.

“Let’s do it,” she says, and they walk out of the office together.

***

They allow one journalist from a prestigious newspaper to follow them on their adventure. In between doors, Ben answers questions from them, mostly about his career, favorite films. The easy stuff. It frustrates Rey to no end, because Ben’s perspective deserves to be heard, and he’s not just a vapid blockbuster actor, he’s the son of a renowned politician. He’s someone who could bring a lot of people into the political process, but the journalist is letting the unique opportunity slide completely by.

Someone finally answers their front door after their tenth knock. It’s a young woman, must be college aged, and she definitely recognizes the man on her doorstep, because she gasps and takes a large step back into her house before acknowledging them completely.

“You’re… Ben Solo?”

Ben shoots the girl a grin. “I am! What gave it away?” He glances at the script in front of him. “I’m out here today knocking on doors for my mother, Senator Leia Organa. She’s running for the Democratic nomination for president. Have you decided who you’re going to vote for at the caucuses tomorrow?”

“I…” The poor girl is clearly feeling overwhelmed, but Ben shows all of the patience in the world with her. When Rey looks back at the journalist, they’re scribbling away on their notepad. “I haven’t yet, no. Wasn’t even sure I was going to caucus, to be honest.”

Ben launches into his speech, the same one he gives at rallies and events, but this time it feels even more intimate, and it humanizes him in a way that turns him from huge, successful actor to simple, passionate civilian. He tells her about his childhood, about growing up in politics, and wanting to get away from all. He explains his relationship with Snoke, and how he grappled with the fact that politics was the only way to stop his former manager and others like him. He wraps up with a heartfelt plea to her, from person-to-person, not actor-to-student, and by the time they’re leaving her doorstep, she’s committed to vote for his mother the next day, and even asks if they have any Leia Organa pins she can have.

“For someone who claims not to like canvassing, you’re awfully good at it,” Rey says when they get further down the block.

“I’m an actor, Rey,” he quips back. “And I grew up door knocking. I know how to fake productive conversations.”

Rey decides she could listen to him talk every second of the rest of her life.

  
  


***

The motorcade has to abandon them in the small town they’re canvassing in, and by the time they finish knocking on their packets of doors, it’s dark outside. A six-hour drive across Iowa to get to their reserved hotel room is honestly the last thing either of them want, so they set out to find a pair of hotel rooms.

The thing every seasoned campaign veteran in the motorcade failed to mention to Rey and Ben, though, is that the day before the caucus is _not_ the time to try to find two spare rooms to sleep in. They learn the hard way, driving to several hotels that are completely full of press and staffers for rival campaigns already. 

“Fuck,” Rey mutters under her breath as they exit their third attempt. “Are we seriously going to have to drive to Des Moines tonight?”

“There’s one more we can check out.” He points on his phone’s map to a Super 8 down the road. “Might as well.”

The Super 8 does not look like a place Ben Solo would be caught dead at, is the thing. It’s dingy, with a flickering neon sign and empty pool. Rey can tell the instant they’re in the run-down lobby that he would like to leave and drive all night if they needed to, the way he clams up at the bleachy smell in the room. 

But she pursues the option, anyway. 

There’s a teenager manning the front desk inside. He barely looks up from his phone when they ask about available rooms.

“We’ve got one room,” he responds to them in a bored voice.

“One room?” Rey asks immediately.

“One room. Do you want it?” The teen finally lifts his head and abandons his phone. His eyes widen just slightly in recognition when he spots Ben, but to the boy’s credit, he shrugs the shock off like a champ. Or maybe he just really doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter to Rey either way; his lack of reaction is the most professional she’s seen someone outside of their campaign act in days.

“We want it,” Ben says when it becomes clear Rey isn’t going to respond, too lost in her thoughts. He hands over his credit card, ignoring Rey when she tries to wave his hand away.

“We should pay for it with campaign funds, you can’t get reimbursed,” she mumbles to him in an attempt to shield the teen from her words.

Ben snorts. “If you think I can’t afford a night in this place, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“And here I thought you were politically reformed,” she quips back with a grin.

The kid lets his eyes flick between the two of them for a brief moment before handing them a room key.

“Park behind the motel,” he says. “Second floor on the right.”

“Thanks,” Rey says as Ben snatches the key out of his hand without so much as a glance. She follows him outside. “Whoa, whoa, what was that? You don’t need to be rude to the poor teenager working the front desk.”

He purses his lips and pulls himself into the passenger seat of their van, opting to ignore her reprimands.

“What’s with the sudden mood swing, dude?”

“Nothing,” he mutters.

They pull into a parking spot, and he jumps out the moment she turns the car off to grab their bags from the back. She watches him stop at the foot of the stairs and turn to wait for her. When she opens her own door and slides into the frigid air, he practically sprints up the stairs.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles under her breath before following him. She catches him in the room, managing to hoist the front door open just before it slams shut. “What the _fuck_ , Ben?”

She nearly runs into him when he stops suddenly to stare at the single bed in the middle of the room. They stare at it together, the gears in their heads turning in tandem; they come to the same conclusion at the same time seconds later.

Her hands feel clammy all of a sudden, and her stomach is in knots. She takes a glance at his fists, balled up and white with tension.

“We can drive back to Des Moines, Ben,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. The touch seems to jolt him out of something; he jumps slightly, and turns to face her with blazing eyes and flushed cheeks.

“We aren’t driving back to Des Moines,” he says. “It’s ten at night, we’re six hours away. I can just… set out a blanket on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rey says, though she regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, because how much more desperate for his touch can she get? “We’re adults here, we can share a bed for a night.”

Ben cocks an eyebrow. She almost melts. “Can we?”

The bed honestly begs to differ. It’s full size, at most, and definitely shorter than Ben. The thin quilt covering it looks itchy. There’s a high probability that some sort of creature inhabits the sheets. She doesn’t even want to know what kind of substances might coat the pillow cases.

But she nods confidently anyway. “We can.” She looks back at him. “But only if you shove whatever dickishness that was at the front desk away and go back to being your happy go-lucky self.”

He gawks at the bed for a very long several moments. He’s staring at it like it’ll jump up and attack them, with these weary eyes and slumped shoulders.

“We probably shouldn’t change clothes,” he finally says. “And keep our coats on. Stop any bugs from biting us.”

“I’ve slept in much worse,” Rey admits. “I’m not too concerned. But I am completely exhausted.”

Ben clears his throat. “Me too.”

“So maybe we should… you know, get to it.” Ben turns a choke into a cough, and Rey is frantic to clarify: “I mean, get to bed. You know. Sleep!”

“We should.”

Neither of them move at first, so Rey takes the initiative, stepping towards the bed and sliding into it to the side closest to the wall. She adjusts herself a little, pulls the cover up over her coat. Ben still hasn’t moved an inch once she settles.

“So are you… going to lie down?”

“I--uh--yes. I’m tired.”

“You are.”

“Exhausted.”

“We’ve gone over this, but yes, me too.”

He stumbles towards the bed, lifts his knee to get in.

“Maybe you should turn the light off before you get comfortable,” Rey says.

“Uh. Or maybe we should sleep with the light on.” His voice is tight and a little bit shaky, an audible of the thoughts reeling in Rey’s head.

“We have to get up at six in the morning if we’re going to make it back for your mom’s last big event and the results watch party. Turn off the lights.”

She leaves no room to argue, so Ben stands up straight and does what she says, flipping the light switch so that the room is only lit up by a stream of moonlight through the curtains. He shuffles back to the bed, clamoring into it so quickly he nearly rolls into her.

It’s silent for two unbearable minutes.

Rey is staring at his back.

He turns his head to meet her gaze, and then rolls onto his side to face her fully.

“This is weird,” he remarks, and yeah, it is _super_ weird, but Rey doesn’t think that she hates it. At all.

“Too weird to sleep through?”

“Might be.”

“Mm,” she muses. “I can sleep just about anywhere. This bed’s a lot more comfortable than what I had at my last foster home, I’ll tell you that.”

Ben’s gaze drifts over her face. If there’s anything Rey hates in this world, it’s pity; she’s about to call him out for it, but something sparkles in him, and she realizes it’s not pity he’s expressing at all. She’s remiss to admit it, but the glint almost looks like… pride?

“I’m glad you found Luke,” he says in an almost-whisper, and it’s the last thing she expects from him.

“You are?”

“I think he’d have been the craziest moron in the world to not take you under his wing. Smartest decision he ever made.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far,” she says with a little smile. Her cheeks heat up. “I’m not even in field anymore.”

“I know.” His bottom lip rolls into his mouth. “I completely understand why my mother assigned you to be my scheduler.”

“Oh?” she teases. “I seem to recall you wondering why I was ever hired on your behalf at all.”

“And I was an idiot back then.”

“A whole month ago?”

“I did a lot of changing. Even learned that door knocking can be fun, with the right person.” She opens her eyes wide to look at him. He’s all earnest emotion. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “I'm sorry I was a dick. I was overwhelmed. But I feel it too.”

He’s staring at her again with those fucking eyes, and she can’t stand it. They’re pressed up against each other, all she would need to do is roll her neck up a little for their lips to touch and it’s just… too much, too beautiful, he’s too… complicated, and intelligent, and good.

“I’m… tired,” she repeats a last time, rolling over. “Night, Ben.”

“Good night, Rey.”

“And I… Ben, for what it’s worth… I’m really glad I’m your scheduler.”

There’s a long silence. Neither of them breathe, or move, and the entire world goes still just for them.

And then, in the softest of whispers: “Me fucking too, Rey.”

***

She wakes up with a heavy arm slung around her waist and a warm body cocooning hers. It’s wonderful and comforting and everything she wishes she could be greeted to every morning--she just wishes it weren’t _this_ particular one, because when she checks her phone it’s seven o’clock, which means they’re significantly behind schedule.

So she launches awake and lifts her body up, jostling Ben awake with frantic words.

“Ben, it’s seven, you need to get up, now. Like, right now. We have time to brush our teeth, that’s it.”

Ben groans and sits up while Rey takes her toiletry bag into the bathroom. She brushes her teeth in record time, and swipes a comb through her hair as thoroughly as she can, until Ben saunters in with his own toothbrush.

They’re in the car two minutes later, rushing down the highway.

“Is the speeding necessary?” he asks, eyeing the speedometer on her dash.

“If we’re going to make it in time for you to speak at your mother’s final campaign rally, absolutely.”

“Not gonna be able to speak if my body explodes in a fiery car crash, either,” he reminds her.

Despite his complaints, though, they make it to Des Moines with minutes to spare several hours later, and Poe Dameron rushes a breathless, showerless Ben to stage to introduce his mother with no time for prep.

Rey watches to the side of the stage with bated breath. It’s the very last time she’s going to get to watch him speak on behalf of his mother; maybe even the very last time she’ll even see him, ever.

She hangs onto his every inhale, every word, every hand gesture.

And her heart races.

“This isn’t about me,” he says into the microphone. “It’s not about my mom. It’s not about my family. It’s about you. All of us. This movement is about finding equity in our race, and gender, and age, it’s about living in harmony with each other, having empathy for everything we encounter. Being on the ground with all of you amazing volunteers has been the honor of a lifetime, so much more meaningful to me than starring in some stupid blockbuster like Galaxy Wars. You all have made it happen. I am so confident that, in a month’s time, we are going to have the opportunity to create a system that works for us, and it’s all because of the work every single person in the room put in to help my mother become the Democratic nominee in this historic election.”

He looks right at her, all soft eyes, glossy from… those can’t be tears, can they? 

“I have a new appreciation for field, now, having worked at it. I door knocked for the first time in years yesterday, and it was one of the most enjoyable, rewarding experiences I’ve had in years. I am so grateful to the movement you all have created, because it gave me a new perspective, and made me realize that fostering human connection is more important than anything a well shot commercial can bring to the table.”

And he nods, one single bop of his head, and shoots her a private grin as the crowd cheers. 

All for her.

“I’d like to introduce you all to the woman of the hour, the future leader of our country, and my incredible mother: Senator Leia Organa.”

***

They watch the caucus results that night in a room full of anxious energy. It buzzes around and infects everyone as the hours pass and precincts trickle in with their votes. Rey is on the verge of vomiting by the time fifty percent is in, and it’s still neck-in-neck in a three-way tie between candidates.

But an hour later, Leia Organa comes out onto a new stage at their watch party to claim her victory in the Iowa caucuses, and the entire room erupts in deafening cheers.

Ben sweeps up the aisle a few steps to lift Rey into a crushing hug, laughing, and Rey laughs too, but also sniffles and cries, for lots of overwhelming reasons.

“I can’t believe we did it,” she sobs into his arms. He nods into her neck, holds her a little tighter, before setting her down.

“It’s your victory as much as hers. As much as theirs.”

Rey wipes her eyes. “And yours, too.”

“Drink?” he asks, motioning to the bar. 

“I…” She’d love a drink, really. A drink is kind of all she needs right now. Or a joint. Or both. But drinking with Ben? Being overwhelmed in other new ways tonight? She’s not sure she can handle that. “I think I’m going to head to bed, actually.”

Ben nods. He bites his lip. It’s infuriating. And hot. And it makes Rey regret not accepting his offer.

“Okay,” he says. “See you in the morning?”

“Bright and early,” she says, smiling.

The elevator in the hotel is unbearably slow. It inches her up to the sixth floor like a slug crawling on dry cement, so she’s not really patient when she also struggles to fit her room key in the slot.

“Fucking dammit,” she curses under her breath when it finally opens.

The door falls shut behind her, and is closed for two seconds before there’s a panicked series of knocks on it.

“What the fuck is it?” she groans, pulling it back open and stopping in her tracks. She feels her face soften. “Ben?”

He’s panting hard. “I… Rey--fuck, I ran up the stairs, the elevator is _infuriatingly slow_ and--”

“What’s wrong, what happened?” she interrupts. “Were results recalled?”

“What?” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Of course not. I just--I needed to… tell you--something.”

“Well, what is it?”

He seems to have finally caught his breath. His shoulders are straighter, his face less flushed, hands in his pockets now instead of lingering in the doorway.

“CanIKissYou?” he rushes out.

Rey takes the tiniest of steps back. “Can you _kiss_ me?”

“I just--I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lead with that. Shit. It’s just, I think you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re strong, and so fucking smart, and canvassing with you the other day was probably the most fun I have ever had and--”

Rey surges forward with the intention of fulfilling his request.

She clearly doesn’t have the best sense of spatial awareness, because her lips land on his chin, but he seems to get the gist, pulls himself out of his speech to angle his head down a little and--

And it is everything.

And it is nothing.

And it is _perfect._

Rey has kissed a fair few boys in her years. Campaign lifestyles require a bit of stress release every now and again, and Rey’s favorite method has been quick fucks with staffers she’d never see again.

But this?

This is something else.

This is something that fuels a burn in her belly, a frantic energy that grows tenfold when Ben walks them back into her room without breaking their lips apart. Her hands move of their own accord, lacing into the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. 

Warm arms wrap around her waist, lifting her to stand on tippy toes, and Ben growls when she nips at his bottom lip, spinning them around to pin her against the closed door.

“It’s all I can think about,” he whispers, ghosting his mouth over the pulse point of her neck. “This, and you, and us.”

It’s instinct that she’s running on at this point. She gasps when he nips at her skin and soothes the little bite with his tongue. It launches her into pure dedication to the experience, and she jumps up to wrap her legs taut around his waist, pulling his lips back to hers again.

“It’s okay?” he asks. “This? Going further?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she says. “I’m going to combust if we _don’t_ go further.”

“Thank God.”

“Thank Leia?”

She giggles when he pulls away to grimace at her. “Yes, the first thing I want to hear come out of your mouth while we’re making out is my mother’s name, thank you for that.”

“So what you really meant was ‘Thank Rey?’”

“Fuck you.”

“You totally can.”

She doesn’t even recognize her voice, breathy and high pitched as it is at this point. Her brain has no control over her body anymore, and she delights in the way Ben runs one hand down her back to clutch at where her skirt is bunched up around her hip.

His head pulls back for another moment, just long enough for him to sweep his eyes across her face, before he whips back in to latch their lips again.

Rey has never particularly enjoyed making out before--it’s always felt like a precursor to something much more satisfying--but the wild way he’s clasping his hands around her hips, her ass, her neck, like he can’t touch enough of her at once, all while peppering anywhere he can reach with his lips? That’s driving her to the brink of insanity.

“Ben, I--fuck, Ben,” she murmurs as he swipes the tip of his tongue against her shoulder. “Bed-- _now_.” 

He ignores her, pressing another kiss to her mouth before setting her down to sink on his knees at her feet. His hands stroke the inside of her thighs, and have they always been this warm, this all-encompassing? She’s pretty sure that one Ben Solo hand could easily wrap around the entire circumference of her thigh.

Her skirt is still rucked up around her waist, and several buttons of her shirt have popped open. She figures she must look like a mess, hair falling out of its bun, clothes wrinkled, stockings torn up the seam of her left leg. 

Ben looks like he couldn’t care less, the way he’s staring at the panties covering her. 

He lifts two fingers, and then meets her eye, a silent question; she nods, probably too vigorously, and he presses them into the fabric, rubbing against their damp gusset. 

That touch alone is plenty.

Not to make her come, but to make her realize that they should have done this the moment they met.

“So fucking wet,” he hisses between clenched teeth before hooking a finger underneath her underwear and pulling it to the side. He prods a thumb at her entrance, rubbing his way along to nudge her clit and she--the kind of guttural moan that comes out of her mouth, she doesn’t recognize it.

She catches a glimpse of a smirk on his face before it disappears in her pussy, and it’s all too much and not enough at once. 

He starts slow, in this agonizing, teasing sort of way that makes her want to kick him. Her leg lifts itself over his shoulder, opening herself up to him completely, and he takes full advantage, shaking his head twice to pull her folds apart. It’s kitten licks, at first, the ghost of pleasure threading along her spine, until he seems to break, and devours her whole. He grips her hip with one hand and presses a finger inside of her, sucking at her between grunts and whispers of her name. She can't differentiate between suction and flicks of his tongue; all there is is heat, vibrating tension, a desperate voice in her head telling her to let go, to release it all, and she can't help the shout of expletives that come out of her mouth.

She thought that surprise orgasms were bullshit all her life. How can someone not know their bodies well enough to know they’re on the cusp of coming, she’d always wondered when she had time to read romance novels. But her orgasm right now? Crashes into her like an invisible train. It builds quickly, and stems into something incomprehensible, otherworldly, and she can’t grasp onto her reality quick enough to realize that Ben Solo has complete and utter control over her body as it writhes against his mouth and fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters too many times, while he stands back up to kiss her again, leaving his fingers hooked inside of her.

“More?” he asks, wrapping his lips around the lobe of her ear and adding another finger to her entrance.

“All of it,” she whispers back.

They divest themselves of their clothes, ripping away the buttons of their shirts, toeing off their socks. 

Ben is beautiful. It’s unfair, really, how beautiful he is, his chest hard and thighs shaped and shoulders broad as they are. His dick is way too big. In the best way possible. It’s stately, jutting out at attention, shiny and pink with precum beading at its tip. She can’t look away, doesn’t even want to, and he seems to be feeling the same way, stroking her hand with his own, running his eyes up and down her figure.

He leans his head down to wrap his mouth around a nipple, and Rey, well, no one’s really ever paid attention to her tits before but--she would have a long time ago if she’d known being touched there would feel like this. He flicks his tongue against her hard peak, and her back arches, and she could die like this, die right here, happy and sated.

The time goes… somewhere outside of her understanding, because one second they’re content just to be next to each other, and the next they’re collapsed in her bed, struggling to get as close as they can. 

She slinks down his body, desperate to reciprocate his enthusiasm. It’s not hard to muster up the energy to suck on a dick when it’s that much of a specimen, when it should be entered into the penis equivalent of a state fair biggest vegetable competition.

The most guttural moan Rey has ever heard comes straight out of Ben’s mouth, and it only fuels her more, this desire to taste all of him.

She wraps her mouth around the head of his dick with the faintest of touches, closing her lips around him and lifting her eyes up to gauge his reaction. He lies there, fists clenched at his sides, eyes shut tight, face crumpled like he’s just trying desperately to hold on. It’s a sight to behold, Rey has to admit.

Spit pools around his shaft where her mouth meets it, head gliding downwards, deep, deep, deep, until it hits the back of her throat, and he gasps, lifting to life. His hands come undone, wrapping into her hair. He sits up, just enough to watch her.

“Again,” he pleads, and she bobs down as deep as he’ll go. “Fu--uck.”

Rey pats a hand on top of his, pressing it down to give him the hint. He seems to lose control completely, gyrating his hips to thrust further into her mouth, watching her gag and gargle on his dick with alarming reverence. 

She has never felt so powerful.

It is completely addicting.

It only lasts a minute, maybe two, before he almost combusts, stilling like a statue, forcing her head to stop and pulling her mouth off him completely.

“Can’t let myself come like that,” he soothes when she whimpers at the loss. 

“Where d’you want to come instead?” she asks, dragging herself up his torso, draping a leg over his abdomen to press her lips into his neck.

He hesitates for a split second before leaning over to pick up his pants and pull out a condom. She feels her face split into a grin that is kissed away almost immediately, slowly, the same way she might savor a pint of ice cream. They trail away from each other while he busies himself with rolling their new protection onto his dick, and she takes the opportunity to nuzzle into his neck, pull apart his legs, run a hand over his abdomen.

"Okay?" he asks when he's ready. He cups her chin in a single hand and meets her gaze with wide eyes.

Her frantic nods are enough response. He positions her on her side and pulls her leg up, situating himself at her back and pressing the tip of his cock to her cunt. She’s just in reach of his head, so she wraps a hand behind his neck and closes her eyes to revel in it all. 

“Good?” he asks, and she moans in response. It’s enough to prompt him to do more, sliding himself until his balls are flush with her ass and--

They exhale together, because this is what it always was meant to be.

“This is--” Ben starts and stops, seeming to choose to focus all his efforts on pumping himself in and out of her.

“Faster, fuck, Ben, please,” Rey pants, adjusting her body against his to help him along. “And--”

She takes his hand and drags it down her chest, over her tits, and drops it lower. He takes the hint like a champ, wetting two of his fingers in his mouth and rubbing through her folds at a pace matching their fucking.

It’s all grunts and moans and curse words in the room, smells of sweat and sex, and Ben’s body is behind hers and his lips are on her neck and it’s so much, too much to bear, the way his fingers rub circles at her clit with no abandon.

“Fffff--” she chokes on the first letter, overcome as he pistons in and out, losing himself in it. “Fuck! I’m--I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Ben _roars_ , loud without abandon, gripping her body with the entire span of his arms, and he’s right behind her.

“So fucking good, Rey,” he choruses over and over, before rolling her over completely to her knees. It's so much deeper, now, almost overwhelmingly so; she can't contain the squeaks and squawks threatening to rouse the rooms next door, not if she held her breath and bit a hole in her tongue. He grabs at her hips, spanks her ass, runs a hand softly down her spine. He wants to be everywhere, it seems, and keeping his hands training at the junction of her thighs just doesn't seem to be an option. It's equalizing, the way they're both unable to maintain their dignity, their humanity when this is all just so-- “Perfect. _Everything_.”

He stutters just when it's edging too much, slowing as he shudders at over her back and buries himself as deep as he can, filling her completely before falling to his back. She rolls over, too, and they lie next to each other, limbs splayed out, chests heavy with panting breaths.

They bask in it for a few minutes. It’s quiet. So quiet after all of the loud of the last several months, after the rallies and the crowds and the constant movement. She turns to face him when she can’t bear it anymore, the stillness.

“So your mom won the caucuses,” she reminds him, smirking when he grimaces at another mention of his mother.

“Was that all this was?” he teases. “A ploy to get to my mother?”

“I was just going to say, I guess we had our own caucus day celebration?”

He groans and smiles. “You’re an idiot.”

“I resent that!” she cries. “You’re just jealous of my pun. Think we should send a press release to the papers?”

“Announcing our formal relationship?”

“Declaring a new holiday: happy cockus day to all.”

***

So he fucks her again. And again. And again. All the way through the primaries, to the general election, to his mother’s inauguration a year later.

Rey couldn’t love politics more.


End file.
